Read The End Boxset: Postapocalyptic Visions of an Unstoppable Collapse for Free Online

it was about the old man who lived in the house. The old man who had let him rent the trailer out back for next to nothing. Surely he had to warn him of the danger coming. He couldn't possibly leave him at the hands of whatever attack, or rioting or hell awaited the city. Could he? Jeremy looked at his watch. It was 12:03pm. He wanted to be on the road and well out of the city by midnight, but he was already dangerously behind schedule.
     
    He had to say something to the old man. Even if it was to say goodbye. He had not realized just yet that if he was going to survive in this new world, he was going to have to change some things about himself. He was going to have to become detached. Jeremy assumed that the old man might be sleeping, but sometimes, he'd surprise you. Sometimes you could hear his Johnny Cash records playing well into the night as the old man nursed a bottle of whiskey.  He would drink to this deceased wife. He would drink to health and good fortune. He would drink to all those things that make people feel hopeful.
     
    The old man gave Jeremy a key to come in as he pleased and use the utilities. Jeremy had left it earlier under the mat, to give back. It was still there. Jeremy listened at the door. He heard the slight echo of music, though it was hard to make out. He slowly unlocked and turned the doorknob, entering the house in its vast darkness. Once past the foyer, Jeremy felt the walls for the living room. The light from a small lamp in the living room guided him.
     
    There was, indeed, a record playing. It sounded like Patsy Cline. The record was stuck and the same half of the chorus kept skipping and repeating. Jeremy noticed the old man sleeping in his usual spot, the recliner, near the record player, a bottle of whiskey in his lap. He walked over to the record player and removed the needle from the record. The room was silent. Jeremy leaned down and placed his hand on the old man's shoulder
     
    “Hank...Hank,” he said gently.
    There was no movement on the old man's part. Jeremy started to shake him a little more. Still nothing.
    “Hank,” he said louder.
    A flash of realization came over Jeremy. Hank was dead. He checked his breathing and pulse. Nothing.
    Jeremy backed away and observed the deceased man. He looked peaceful. He had lived a long life, well into his 80s. But he died alone. Not a soul but Jeremy as a witness. A sick feeling came over Jeremy where he felt that he was looking in a mirror of himself, if and when got to be that age. Would there be someone in the room to discover him when he died? Would there be someone who cared?
    “I should bury him,” Jeremy thought. He knew if he were to call the authorities, Hank's body would never see a proper burial. Not with a city about to turn on itself at any moment. But what is a proper burial?
     
    Jeremy grabbed a shovel from Hank's tool shed and started to dig a hole in the back yard. “Six feet deep,” he kept saying to himself. “That's how deep it needs to be. That's what he deserves.”
    Hank's body was lying on the ground wrapped in blankets and awaiting burial. It took much longer than Jeremy had planned to dig the hole. At least an hour had passed, and he wasn't sure if he was anywhere near the proper length. He climbed out, grabbed his spot light, and shinned it down the hole.
    “Good enough,” Jeremy panted. He knew that he was just over five-feet-ten-inches, and the hole was bigger than him. Plus he had used precious time, and worn himself out. Not smart if you're planning to be on the road for days, weeks, or months.
     
    He gently rolled Hank's wrapped body into the hole and then proceeded to throw dirt over him. The back-and-forth movement with the shovel proved to be exhausting. Who ever knew that digging a hole would take so much out of you? When the hole was covered, he patted it with the shovel. Rather than feeling annoyed at the time, or upset with himself for deviating from the plan, Jeremy sat back for a